I have had nothing but easy travel for quite some time now. So I guess that it was time for me to get annoyed and bothered, or at least delayed on my last trip.
I left Houston for Oslo last Wednesday, via Amsterdam. I was returning on Saturday, via Newark. The weather looked like it would be dicey, and I thought that I would not get home on time, even thought it was late flight – not landing in Houston until 7:30. (I usually get home about 2:00 PM. I missed the flight connection in Amsterdam, and was forced through Newark because the US is not on the same Daylights Savings Time schedule as the rest of the world that moves to Daylight Savings Time. Thanks Congress! You are evil!)
Flying through Newark is always a problem anyway. Luckily I was not checking bags (I have stories about THAT in Newark!) but I was worried about immigration. But I get ahead of myself.
As usual I did not get much sleep Friday night in Oslo (it is my second night there, and I am flying out the next day. When I wake up, I watch movies. Not a big deal. I saw part of Beverly Hills Cop II, and part of Master and Commander. I had seen the later, but not the former, previously.) so I was up and ready for breakfast when the breakfast room opened at 7:00 AM. (Eggs, bacon, and pickled herring. Nothing like fish for breakfast!). I read from my Kindle (The Big Rich. An excellent book about Texas Oil Men. I recommend it) and then went up to my room to finish packing. That done, I wandered over to the train station to grab the Flytoget train that goes to the airport.
I arrived at the airport a scant 30 minutes later and ambled over to the Continental ticket counter. (I had check in online, but had no boarding pass) There was a family with complicated passport issues in line in front of me, but I had plenty of time so I did not worry. I finally got my ticket and got through the relatively short security line without any issued (remember this for later)
I had to buy some chocolates for My Sweet Ever Lovin’ (Lindt chocolates. Lordy, they are so good the make you want to slap your mamma!) and was able to do that in the (very crowded, oddly enough) duty free shop.
Since this was a flight out of the EU, I had to clean immigration. There were two lines at the immigration counter. One was for “All Passports” and one for “EU Passports”. One of the PGS employees was a couple places in front of me in the “All Passports” line. There was nobody in the “EU” line, though there was an immigration official. Well, in front of me step three Norwegians (in the “All Passport” line) with immigration issues. Why they chose to wait in line, instead of go DIRECTLY to the front of the other line is beyond me. (Reminds me of the sign that they used to have when leaving the Denver Airport. Everyone had to pay at for parking at what looked like a big toll plaza. Probably about 25 booths. The sign said “Use Shortest Lane”. I always thought that was the funniest thing. Having to tell people to “use shortest lane”. But you do. People are foolish) in any case, I had to wait behind this couple with immigration issues as well.
Little did I know that those two lines were a harbinger of things to come.
The flight was largely uneventful. I never said two words to the fellow who was sitting next to me for 9 hours. That was fine with me. We landed and made it down to immigration with no problems.
At immigration, a miracle had occurred. There was nobody in line! I waited for maybe 30 seconds and was sent on to Customs.
Now, keep in mind that I had been out of the country for only three nights. I had only one carryon bag, my computer, and a duty free bag with the chocolates. As I got up to customs, they told the pilot in front of me that he had to go to his left for an ag-check (agriculture check) and they told me that I did, too!
Think about this – there are almost no farms in Norway. I was only out of the country for three days, and only had chocolate. And I was chosen for an ag-check! Talk about a waste of time.
Of course they found nothing, and then off I went to clear security to get back to the gates.
Here is where the real fun began.
I noticed an empty belt and walked right up to it. That was a big mistake. There was obviously some tyro reading that x-ray. I put my stuff through, walked through the metal detector, and was told they needed to do a “bag check” What the heck! This was the fourth x-ray that this bag has been through on this trip, and they have a problem? OK, being the good citizen I am I just stand and wait while they open my bag and take my shoes out (my shoes?)
They run the bag through again, and STILL see something they don’t like. So they rummage around again in my dirty underwear and shirts. I offer to take some stuff out of the bag and I am sternly reprimanded. At which point I just sit down and let them spin their wheels.
And what happens now? They put the bag through again, and they STILL see something they don’t understand. Well, this is the rich part: They then tell me to repack my bag and be on my way!
What?
So they found a problem, never identified it, and just sent me away? Doesn’t that sort of defeat the whole purpose of the check?
TSA. American Stasi, only Dumber.
But wait! There is one more piece of joy left in this day of Kafkaesque air travel.
In spite of the TSA’s actions, I was able to get to the President’s club about 2:20. I was scheduled for a 4:30 flight to Houston, arriving at about 7:30. There was also a 3:00 PM flight to Houston.
So my PGS buddy and I visited the counter to see if we could get on the 3:00 PM flight and save a couple of hours. Jerry had a cheap coach fare, but had been upgraded to Business Class on the 4:30 flight. I had a Business Class fare. They looked at Jerry’s ticket, and immediately gave him a seat (in the back) on the 3:00 flight. No fee, no questions They dickered around with my reservation for a while and then said I had to go to the gate.
So we walk down to the gate, and the gate agent tells me that the business section is full. I say no problem, can they get me a seat in coach. You bet! They start looking at my record, and the woman has to make a phone call. That is never a good sign.
I hear her asking about class of travel, and how to book the change. She hangs up and calls another person. Again, questions about Z and Y and all sorts of other codes are being thrown about.
She says, “OK, that will be a $250 change fee and $37.50 for the transaction.”
I express incredulity as calmly as I can.
Of course, I politely declined their offer. Now, keep in mind that I am a Platinum Elite flyer with Continental, and have been an elite member for each of the past 15 years. Most of the time, that has been Platinum, occasionally gold, seldom silver.
Don’t you think that they would want my business?
This story would have been better had they actually cancelled my 4:30 flight. Luckily for me (but not the story) they didn’t.
So in the end, I got home right on time.
Crazy.
